


Ink

by Borlaaq



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Complete, F/M, Oneshot, Spoilers, Stormblood, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borlaaq/pseuds/Borlaaq
Summary: Her blood is purple ink now, slipping between her shaking fingers. What parts of her are Lyse and what parts are Yda? She doesn't know. It's all blood and broken knuckles now anyway.Spoilers for 3.5 and 3.56





	

_But you have blood on your hands and I know it's mine. I just need more time._

 

one.

Some nights, Yda (—and that's her now isn't it?) dreams of the ocean.

Deep purple and sprawling as she tries to tread water to keep her head above the abyss. It spirals, tugging her down and fills her lungs with dark, thick water until the ocean is gone and she is choking. Falling to her knees, her vision is blurred but she sees bleached white and blue cobblestone paths. The shadow of Rhalgr stretches above her — a giant mountainous idol.

When she wakes up with a jerk, the sides of her neck ache and ache.

 

two.

Lyse was young when she came to Sharlayan but she remembers much. She grew up on the blue and white buildings and the shadow of her sister. Oh, Lyse saw so much there but sometimes memories flooded to her of red stone and sand and somewhere in the distance the smell of fire and salt. Yda told her it was Home. It was Ala Mhigo. Yda smiled and it was Sad.

 

three.

Yda is busy while they are in Sharlayan and Lyse knows that she is doing what she has to. She wants to be an Archon. She has to be an Archon.

Being chosen as an Archon is more than most can even comprehend. It's not just a title, not just a position — it's a life. You are no longer your own person when that ink sinks under the skin; you are whatever you have to be for Eorzea. You live and breathe to protect and do what is right.

But there can only be twelve Archons and so the students fight and work hard in their studies. Would only they be chosen as their Home's Protector. It is not an easy task and none of them sought out Sharlayan thinking it would be. There is something about the blue and white elegance of the buildings and the secrets of the Library that speak to them.

To them, this is where they will find meaning. To Yda, though, all she wants is to find a place to call home. A place for her and and place for Lyse.

But Yda knows that Archons will have power and most of all _presence_. They will be politicians and warriors. Yda wants that power because she knows, with that, they will have to listen to her. They will have to free Ala Mhigo. She tells all this to Lyse, who is old enough to understand and those words stick with her.

 

four.

Papalymo is the one who pulled strings to get Yda and her sister into Sharlayan, to give her this almost second chance to right her persevered wrongs. She is young, she has no wrongs, he would tell himself and even tell her one day. How was she supposed to save Ala Mhigo? How was she to know the Elementals wouldn't accept her? She chuckles at him and the cool wind makes the grass tickle her arms.

“We can both become Archons, Papalymo.”

He purses his lips and there is an empty silence until he finally looks back at her, “Yes. But only if you keep studying!” He pushes the book he had been reading to her from back into her chest. “You don't need my help with this!”

“But I do enjoy the company,” Yda laughs again, taking the book almost gingerly.

 

five.

Yda was, from the very beginning, blunt with Papalymo when he first found her and her sister wandering around. She straightened her back and puffed up her cheeks as if she was afraid of him. She told him: “I will allow you to help us if you help me.”

She wanted Ala Mhigo free, nothing more, nothing less, but she was also more intelligent than she let on. More manipulative. Papalymo saw this in her — a drive to rival even the greatest of students. But it was not her mind that drew attention to her within the walls of Sharlayan, but rather her strength. She was, after all, a patron of Rhalgr and it shone in her actions and her fists. In the end, when she stood tall with good grades and bruised fists, Louisoix agreed with Papalymo.

The founder of the Circle of Knowing could see in people what most could not. He knew what Yda wanted and he saw the risks she was willing to take. She loved Ala Mhigo and this was exactly the type of person Louisoix needed in an Archon. Exactly what Eorzea needed.

Lyse, though young, saw it too. She knew Yda would do anything for her and for her people. She wanted to be like that and so, after long school days, she sought out farther training. Lyse was also a follower of Rhalgr and beyond that she was Yda's sister. She had promise in her fists. When Yda saw the bruises, she said nothing and helped her sister tend to knuckles and warned her what to do if they were ever to be broken. Yda had never broken her hand but Lyse would come to break them four times.

 

six.

When the day finally comes that Yda leaves for the Ritual Room, Lyse remembers her shaking when Yda ruffles her hair. Lyse meets her eyes and swallows. Reaching out of her sister's hand to hold it. Lyse knew when Yda came back she wouldn't be the same.

“I'm doing it all for you, Lyse.”

And Lyse wanted so badly to be able to do as much as Yda.

 

seven.

Yda was the last to get her Sage Mark and Lyse ran to embrace her when she returned home late that night. The new ink shimmered in the dull lightning and she remembered thinking how beautiful it looked. Purple like a bruise — like blood pooling under the skin. This was who Yda was now. This made her someone. Lyse doesn't know the feeling that pools in her stomach then but years later she thinks it could have been jealousy. Lyse wants to be someone too.

Lyse wondered if the ink would soak into Yda's veins — stain the blood the same color. She wondered if this would change Yda.

 

eight.

Papalymo takes Yda's hand and she glances down at him, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I'll be back.” But somewhere deep in eye, just barely visible when he looks up, there is little truth in it.

“You are leaving just as the Empire sets foot on Eorzean soil in a means to start war,” Papalymo is surprised he can keep his voice even.

He knows that Yda won't be deterred but he is a bit perturbed that she can leave at a time like this. But she's an Archon and she will be the first to remind him that Ala Mhigo is still part of the land they swore to protect. Papalymo won't try to stop her because he knows her heart.

Yda shrugs, their hands falling away from each other, “They need me.”

He knows they did — the refugees who wish to escape Ala Mhigo but didn't Yda realize he needs her too? Papalymo chews at his lip.

“You sure you don't want to come with me?” Yda asks after a silence, a kind of cocky grin on lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. She will miss him.

“Someone has to look after your brat of a sister,” Papalymo crosses his arms, a smile on his face.

Yda takes his hand once more and rubs her thumb over his knuckles, “And Eorzea.”

“Of course. And Eorzea.”

Yda nods, bringing his hand up to kiss his palm.

 

nine.

“Look after Papalymo for me, Lyse. He's a handful,” Yda's voice is playful but there is that ever present aura of duty in her.

The younger girl chuckles, fumbling with her hands awkwardly and Yda looks down at her bruised knuckles. She is no longer a girl, Yda realizes. She can take care of herself. So instead she tells Lyse to take care of Papalymo. The lalafell gets anxious without her.

She ruffles her sister's hair and throws her pack over her shoulder.

“You could be an Archon someday, you know.” Yda has her back to Lyse but she hears Lyse's breathe catch.

“I don't know, Yda. I have a lot to live up in you,” Lyse winks even though Yda can't see it with her back turned.

“I'll put a good word in for you,” Yda smiles and Lyse wants one day to bring hope to people like Yda can.

“I won't let you down!”

“I know you won't.”

 

ten.

Yda is two days late and even with how busy he is dealing with the City-States and preparing for War, Papalymo notices. A unsettling worry roots itself in his stomach but he ignores it and goes about his work. There is so much work and everyone is stressed enough. He tells himself Yda can take care of herself; she had taken a large party with her. He places his focus elsewhere because he has too.

How Yda's help would have been appreciated but he has to remember that Lyse is capable too and that she is not the child she was in Sharlayan. So he sets her to work with what have been Yda's share and she is all too eager to help. To make something of herself. Papalymo is proud of Lyse. It makes his heart swell and he sees so much of Yda in her that it hurts even worse. He swallows the feeling, though, because there is much to do.

 

eleven.

It's a week after Yda was set to return when Ala Mhigan refugees show up looking for a new home. Papalymo has no time to greet them individually and Lyse has been set out on a mission. Papalymo is about to finish his work handing out all the supplies they can bare to part with and return back to his fellow Archons when a young girl catches his sleeve.

“Y-you are Papalymo?” she says his name awkwardly and horribly incorrect. He scrunches up his face in displeasure.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, attempting to leave. He doesn't look at her, just scans across the list in his hand and making sure he has done everything.

The girl, about the same age Lyse was when they first came to Sharlayan, does not let go. “S-she said to look for the mark on y-your neck. She s-said you were short.”

Papalymo pauses, his mind races but he keeps his calm. Finally, he kneels down slightly to look at the girl. She is bruised and dirty. Her voice shakes in fear but her eyes shine with a thankfulness to be alive. His eyebrows furrow.

He has to look away from her and takes in the rest of the refugees when he realizes he never really _looked_ at them.

Weren't there supposed to be more? And where were the Archons sent to assist them? His gut twists. All the Ala Mhigans look like they had been through hell and back, and he suddenly notices the smell of gunpowder and ceruleum that clings to them. It's the same scent he has been fighting here — one he knows well now. The Empire.

Papalymo's throat is tight and he licks his lips as he turns back to the girl still holding tightly to his sleeve. Her other hand is behind her back.

“Who?” Papalymo can't hide the tremble in his voice.

The girl hands him a mask.

 

twelve.

Papalymo places the mask in Lyse's hands. He has to hold her hands to keep his from shaking lest she drop the mask as he almost had when he first saw it. His throat is dry and he doesn't speak because he cannot bring himself to know what words to say. Yda would have laughed — Papalymo of all people without words.

Lyse knows, though, despite it all, that Yda died a hero. She allows herself to cry and Papalymo can't see her like that but most of all he doesn't want her to see him break.

There's so much more to do that there is no room for mourning. Papalymo knows this and he doesn't tell anyone else what happened. He will tell them later, he tells himself but right now he can't face the truth himself because it would distract him. He has to keep going. Papalymo turns to leave.

Lyse grabs his shoulder, tugs him back into her a bit more roughly than she meant to.

“Take me with you.”

Papalymo spins towards her, torn and hurt. He still can't speak.

“D-don't let all her good go to waste. Don't let Yda die,” she looks down at the mask, shaking and then finally says, “Train me. Let me be your partner.”

She was supposed to look after Papalymo and she knows she can't let him go on without a partner not now. Papalymo needs help. Eorzea needs help. Neither of them can let Yda's work go unfinished.

 

thirteen.

It's an unspoken vow between them. Papalymo places his hand on Lyse's neck and she nods at him. The spell hurts. It burns and burns but Lyse bites her lip until she tastes blood. Papalymo nearly falls after, weak and wary. It had taken much of his aether. Lyse catches him and he holds tightly to her arm.

At first the mark is red like blood and fire but soon it fades to the color she remembers. A bruise under the skin. The ink soaks into her veins and stains her blood. Lyse wants it to change her but she barely knows who she is in the first place. It cannot change what is not even there. So instead it makes her.

When he is finally able to stand, Lyse picks up her sister's mask and Papalymo feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes when she slips it on.

“I'm doing it all for you, Yda.”

And Papalymo agrees.

 

fourteen.

At first calling her Yda feels strange on his tongue but (— and he hates to admit it) Lyse falls into place. She is much like her sister and Papalymo can't help but accept it. It hurts and it takes time for them to find the pace that the pair had previously shared but soon their connection is perhaps even stronger.

No. It _is_ stronger. Their bond is of necessity and blood. It is a bond of pure aether, of lifeforce. They meld together flawlessly but the arguments come more and Papalymo thinks maybe Lyse is more of a headache than Yda. She's an uncontrolled fire without the years of discipline that Yda had as an Archon. Papalymo is amazed only a few caught on because Lyse wasn't afraid to say when she didn't understand something — usually something that an Archon should know.

But, her loudness and unpredictable behavior become something he cherishes. Soon, Yda falls off his tongue easily and Lyse smirks at him lazily. It comes to her easily also. She is Yda, now, of course. And that's perfectly fine to both of them.

But that isn't to say, that at first, Papalymo dreams about Yda. She talks to him, her back turned. At first she would comfort him by telling him that the strongest thing a person can do is move on but eventually her image moved farther and farther away. He noticed she was walking towards a light in the distance.

Then, one night just after the Calamity, she turns to look at him. She has no mask and he is able to take in the subtle differences between her and Lyse. Her smaller lips and more angled face. She smiles and her eyes are more grey than the blue he's become used to.

“Thank you, Papalymo,” she says and he reaches for her hand. That's when he wakes up.

After that, he didn't dream of Yda anymore. It should have felt like a goodbye but instead it felt like a second chance.

He looks over at the sleeping roll next to him.

“Wake up, Yda. We have readings to take.”

This time, he would save her.

 

fifteen.

Lyse— _Yda_ becomes someone Papalymo can't see himself without. She completes him, he thinks, but how he would love for her to walk her own path. He knows her heart longs for something else — something he and that mask can't give her.

She cartwheels through the grassy fields of wildflowers and the ink on her neck shines. He looks away to stir their supper. His ears twitch when he no longer hears her and he looks up.

Yda is staring at Baelsar's Wall.

“Is that to keep us out or to keep them in?” She asks, feeling his eyes on her.

“Both,” Papalymo answers, his voice low, almost a growl. The Wall is a stain on the landscape of the Shroud. An ugly scar. He wishes he could tear it down.

She breaks his concentration. Her voice is soft with a bitterness in it, “Have we given up on Ala Mhigo then? Just because of some wall?”

Papalymo doesn't know how to tell her that perhaps they have.

 

sixteen.

When Yda first demands that they work on freeing Ala Mhigo, Papalymo is almost thankful. Her eyes shine in a way he hasn't seen in six years. But, he is hesitant because he is still an Archon and his duty is elsewhere, isnt it?

“What about the Warrior of Light?”

Yda frowns, “Look. They're a big kid. I'm sure they can take care of themselves.”

Papalymo chews at his lip, “We do have to repay our gracious hosts for helping us out of Ul'dah. Though, Yda, you must remember that we have other duties too.”

But he's remembering Yda's words. Because isn't Ala Mhigo part of Eorzea too?

 

seventeen.

“Did you love my sister?”

The question startles Papalymo and he takes a moment to respond, “She...We were partners. What we had was...important. Special.”

Yda nods, taking in the words. She goes back to what she had been doing — going over plans from the Griffin and trying to understand his motives. Maps of the tunnels under that served as escape routes and ambush points. It all seems to point to the Shroud and Baelsar's Wall. They're trying to put the pieces together before it's too late. Yda wants to help Ala Mhigo but there is something off about the mysterious Griffin.

Papalymo thinks she has dropped the topic.

“Do you love me?” She asks suddenly, smoothing out a wrinkled piece of paper.

Papalymo purses his lips and how badly he wants to say yes. Yell it from the top of is lungs. He loves her like he loved her sister. A bond of aether and blood and war. They were partners and friends. They built it and it was _theirs_.

Instead, Papalymo says, “We can't stay here forever, Yda.”

She knows what he means. She can't stay _Yda_ forever. She hands a paper to him and when he takes it from her, their fingers intertwine. It's a detailed battle-plan filled with jargon that she had managed to snag from the Griffin himself.

“Translate that mess for me.”

 

eighteen.

Papalymo has never been as frustrated with Yda as when she practically sprints away when Gundobald recognizes her. He makes his way after her — finding her in the shadow of Rhalgr's Stone.

“Are you really running away again?” His voice is rough.

“Are we not returning to the Rising Stones? I'm simply saying my goodbyes,” she dodges his question with the same grace she has on the battlefield.

“I should have never gave you that mask.”

She won't look at him, simply stands, “You have told me to walk my own path more than once and now I am and you are ushering me back.”

“You know full well this isn't what I meant! I've watched you grow — watched you become _you_! Alas, you still run. You still hide.”

“Let's go home, Papalymo.”

He looks up at her and catches his breath, “You know the Griffin is planning something. Something big.”

“And we need help,” she smirks and he sees the mischievous look on her face that he hasn't seen in a long time. She has tricks up her sleeve yet and she is not going to give up on her people. He chuckles.

 

nineteen.

There is so much running through Papalymo's head at the time he can barely breathe. His hand shakes around his staff and he knows Yda knows.

“Don't you dare, Papalymo!”

And he gives her a pained smile. There is only one thought in his head when he finally calms his racing mind.

He would save her this time.

Of course, it means losing Yda again. Losing Yda twice. But now, Papalymo is ready. He is ready to let go and he knows, now, she's ready too. She's ready to move on. He wonders if when it happens if he will bleed. If it will be the color of ink. But he swallows that thought and gives one final look back at her. His heart swells and it cements what he must do.

His only regret is that he can't kiss her palm goodbye.

“Farewell again, my dear Yda.”

 

twenty.

When she finally feels his aether dissipate, when it finally leaves her skin and her blood, she has to hold her breathe. Papalymo is finally gone. She clenches her jaw.

Yda and Papalymo are gone. Together but gone.

Lyse thought she would feel more alone but then she realizes: she's become someone. She did as much as Yda and more. She straightens her back, stands up tall. Everything, from now on, would be for Yda and Papalymo and _Ala Mhigo._ She has made them proud but now it is time to do what they could not.

Her blood, she realizes, is red like fire. Not purple like ink because the Sage Mark didn't change her, it made her and now she is ready to move on. Move forward.

“Are you watching, Papalymo?”

And she knows he is, standing next to Yda.

 

twenty-one.

Some nights, Lyse (—and it takes time to accept that that's always been her, hasn't it?) dreams of the ocean.

It's a calm and the smell of salt stings her nose. The sun is setting — painting the water with pinks and reds. She is standing atop a statue of Rhalgr. She finally sees herself as strong enough to stand in the place she had earned. And she had earned it. Herself. She hears Yda say: “You could be an Archon someday.”

And Lyse replies, “I was, sister, and it wasn't for me. I have my own path to walk now.”

She awakes slowly and he neck is warm in a way that comforts her.

 


End file.
